There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked
by PrunusPadus
Summary: Minerva McGonagall clears out the headmaster's office after Severus Snape's death. This three-shot explores his character through the eyes of a teacher who knew him nearly all of his life. Can she forgive him? And can she forgive herself? Post DH.
1. The brittle steel

**The brittle steel**

She was known to be strict and just, both with others and onto herself, and she seldom strayed outside of the path of the righteous. But blessed indeed are those who live their lives free from mistakes or regrets, and from this, she was no exception.

She had held off the task now, for far longer than was reasonable. It was merely a matter of weeks before a new term would begin. But even after two months, she had not yet mounted the courage to climb those familiar steps.

The gargoyle watched her silently with empty eyes, its tongue curled up behind jagged fangs. She walked onto the bottom step, avoiding its gaze, and allowed the moving staircase to bring her up to the thick oaken door without haste.

The portraits of former headmasters greeted her with respectful silence. A thin layer of dust had already settled onto the furniture and on the worn wooden floor.

The pensieve of Hogwarts hung magically suspended in the middle of the oval room, its content a shimmering silver mist. She sent it back into the cabinet, already familiar with what lay within its depths. Those memories had not been intended for her, and she did not yet know whether she could stand to see them.

In Dumbledore's time, the ornate wooden desk had been cluttered with books, and the various instruments and trinkets that had been so dear to him. The latest resident had disposed of those, and the room had looked empty and barren during his reign. There were no personal belongings, not even a preferred quill, or his favoured shade of ink. It was as though the room had never truly belonged to him.

She had thought it fitting at the time. That his surroundings would be as empty as his blackened heart.

Where she was strict, he had been cruel. Where she was just, he had been deceitful. He had led a sinner's life, a killer's life. A life that should damn a man to hell.

Nonetheless, a life filled with remorse.

Did he deserve mercy for being able to feel that? She did not yet know.

'Did you ever turn your wand on anyone?' she had once asked the newly defected Death Eater.

'What do you think, Professor?' the disillusioned young man had said. 'I have used my wand with ill intent more times then I want to remember. I have stood by and watched as others did the same. I have made poisons that have killed. I have seen so many depravities that I have no restful nights left. Only on one single person though, have I ever tried to cast the killing curse.'

'Tried? You're saying your aim wasn't true?'

'It was true. But in the end I couldn't do it. I was too cowardly.'

She frowned. 'Then there is hope for you still.'

He shook his head. 'You couldn't be more wrong.'

She had not understood his meaning at the time, but had learned later by asking the Headmaster, that this one person had been himself.

The second time he cast the curse though, he had not faltered.

Minerva had loved Dumbledore. They all had. Loving him had been easy. He possessed a nobility that was devoid of pride, and gave away friendship without envy.

Even Snape had been drawn to Dumbledore, especially Snape. Enough even to expose his frayed soul. Yet, their bond had never been one of equals.

Knowing that as a young man he had thrown himself at the Headmaster's feet and sworn his undying loyalty, she could see in his later actions a strong desire to please the powerful wizard. To be worthy of the grace he was given.

But that had not always come easily to him. And being Severus Snape's friend could be a hardship as well.

She could almost hear their voices anew. They had once filled this very room.

'What is this I hear, Professor Snape,' Dumbledore had said forcefully, 'about you throwing potion jars at a student?'

Always somewhat insecure in his relationship to the Headmaster, Snape had rushed to explain himself.

'It was never my intention to actually hit Potter,' he began, eyes wide.

'Yet you do not deny that this incident took place?'

Snape studied the Headmaster's desk. 'I- no,' he said, 'I mean yes, I did. But only after he-'

'This is serious indeed, Professor.' As deputy, Minerva had done nothing to conceal her displeasure. 'Student abuse? What will happen if the parents catch wind of this? We have more than enough disasters on our hands already, and your track record is not exactly spotless as it is.'

'I am aware of it,' said Snape, eyes flashing. 'Have neither of you thought to ask what your precious golden boy did to _me_?'

'Harry told me that he inadvertently peeked into your memories,' said Dumbledore, 'he is an inquisitive boy. Much like yourself at his age. But those occlumency lessons were more important than your privacy. And the boy saw nothing of significance.'

Snape's head jerked at the ambiguous allusion to his near-death experience in the Shrieking Shack. 'I don't know why I bother anymore,' he said. 'That boy fights me tooth and nail, and all you ever do is defend him, as if _I_ am to blame!'

' _You_ are supposed to be the adult in this,' the Headmaster thundered. 'I ordered you to teach the boy, yet you gave him such a hard time going about it that he was bound to fail. Then, in the end, you discontinued the lessons at a most inopportune time. And what for? So as not to have your pride wounded in front of James Potter's child? I find your judgement severely impaired, Professor!'

'James Potter tried to _murder_ me!' The petulance in Snape's voice seemed only to upset the Headmaster further.

'He was young,' said Dumbledore. 'And foolish. As were you. But that is not the point here. You disobeyed me, Severus, and very nearly injured a student in the process. I will hear no more of your petty grudges.'

'Petty?' Snape's voice went very quiet. 'I risked my life giving Potter those lessons.'

The fight seemed to bleed out of him, leaving only bitterness behind. 'I don't know why you keep me around anymore,' he said. 'After fourteen years you still prefer him over me.'

'Are you talking of James now, or of Harry?' Disappointment, and a touch of hurt coloured Dumbledore's voice, and he sighed heavily.

'Leave us. I can see that I'm not getting through to you.' He turned his back on the Potions Master, walking to stand in front of the lead glass window.

'Wait…' Snape stepped forward.

'Forgive me, Headmaster,' he said after a moment's hesitation. 'I will do what you ask of me. Let me teach the boy again. I will do better this time. I promise to take your words to heart.'

Dumbledore continued to stare out the window. 'No, Severus,' he said. 'I am unwilling trust you with Harry anymore. I will take over his lessons myself. You are dismissed.'

Snape bowed his head to Dumbledore's turned back, and left the office, but his long greasy hair could not quite conceal that he was deeply cut.

At the time, Minerva had not dwelled on this incident, more interested in the welfare of their favourite student than in her miserable colleague. Snape had deserved the reprimand. He could be harsh and vindictive, and to Harry Potter, he had been a pitiful excuse for a teacher. Those two had brought out the worst in each other, increasingly so as the task of protecting the spirited and independent boy grew more difficult.

But it was Harry who had revealed to everyone that Snape's loyalty to Dumbledore had never wavered.

If he, who had been abused and bullied by the man could find it in himself to forgive, why could not she?

Where Snape's relationship to Dumbledore had been problematic at times, that with the others on staff had been far from cordial. In all of his seventeen years of teaching, he was never included into the collegial fellowship. To some extent, the fault had been his own. He was never sociable, and too proud to put an effort into befriending anyone.

But when Dumbledore had first brought him in as a newly reformed death eater, they had greeted him with cold distrust, recoiling from his presence as though evil was written plainly on his face. She too, had objected the Headmaster's decision, thinking that the young man was unfit for the profession.

'Headmaster, with all due respect, I believe you have committed a grave mistake.'

They had been walking the grounds, a habit Dumbledore occasionally indulged with the most trusted members of his staff.

'What do you mean, Minerva?'

'Severus Snape,' she said, 'what else? You have forced this- this felon down on our heads. He is a bad sort. The worst there is. And you have brought him here to do what? Teach our innocent children?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'What is it he has done this time?'

'Done? Did I not speak clearly before? This man is a heartless murderer. Foul and dishonourable. This corrupt… creature does not belong in a school!'

'Severus came to me at the peril of his own life, to atone for his sins,' said the Headmaster. 'He is of great use to me, and I know with the outmost certainty that he will not harm anyone, ever again. I must ask for your patience and faith.'

She looked at her employer in surprise. 'But he is wicked and disrespectful, and cares for none other than himself. If anyone deserves to have their soul sucked out by a dementor, he must be the one.'

Dumbledore frowned. 'Do not speak so assuredly of the worth of others,' he said. 'I know his heart, Minerva. He is his own worst enemy, and you cannot judge him any more harshly than he has judged himself. His regrets are already consuming him. I ask you not to like him, merely to show tolerance of his plight. Do you not trust me?'

'Of course I trust you, Headmaster. But I do not trust _him_. That is the problem.'

'I will stand for Severus Snape,' said Dumbledore. 'He is under my protection, and if you have further complaints, you will take them to me.'

'Then I shall say no more.' She nodded respectfully. 'But I fear greatly that we all are going to regret this.'

Despite Dumbledore's support, Snape had quickly become Hogwarts' most despised teacher.

Thinking back, Minerva regretted not having shown him more support. But the truth was that she had never really learned to trust him. She doubted anyone had.

Oh, she had accepted him as a teacher, and as an Order member in the end, but only as far as she had trusted Dumbledore to keep his leash. At his murder, her faith in Snape had shattered like glass, cool regard turning instantly to revulsion.

Even before his apparent treason, Snape could be intolerable. He seemed to hold onto a deeply set belief that the world had it in for him, and during times of stress, he would alienate both students and staff with his flaring temper and hostile manner. It had been difficult on those occasions, to summon sympathy for the spiteful man, and at several junctures, she had merely stood by as others had accused him, behind his back and to his face.

It was the Sunday morning following the Yule Ball, and several of the teachers were gathered in the staffroom, chatting over their eleven o'clock tea. As was wont those days, the discussion turned around who had placed Harry Potter's name into the goblet of fire.

'They say Karakoff used to be a death eater, so I'm putting my sickle on him,' Sinistra had said with conviction.

Hooch leaned in conspiratorially. 'Oh, but rumour has it that the Malfoy boy is assuming his father's role,' she whispered. 'I overheard Zabini, Parkinson and Bulstrode in the hallway the other day, and let me tell you, those Slytherin fourth-years are about as wicked as they come.'

Minerva had snorted into her cup. It was a well-known fact that Rolanda Hooch was the biggest gossip in school. Her theories on Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban had been the stuff of legends.

'What's that, Minerva,' Hooch asked sharply. 'If you don't believe me just look to their head of house, he's gone from bad to worse lately. It was only last week he brought Longbottom to tears. Again."

Hooch shook her head in put-upon exasperation. 'I saw it for myself,' she said. 'The boy spilt pumpkin juice on a library book, and Snape hauled him off to detention by his ear. You know how he gets. Poor lad had to be sent to the Infirmary by Filch. He'd tripped in the dungeon stairs and sprained his ankle.'

'It's true that Severus has been on edge lately,' provided Sprout. 'The day before yesterday, he told me off in front of my seventh-years for borrowing a chalkboard from the dungeon. Rather rudely, at that.'

Minerva had to admit that there was merit to what they said. The rapidly diminishing points of house Gryffindor were evidence enough, not even mentioning the increasing number of complaints from distressed parents. Augusta Longbottom was only one among many.

'Everyone knows Snape's a death eater', said Alastor Moody. He was never one to miss an opportunity to emphasise this point, imposter or not. 'He's about as bad as they get, he-'

Just then, the door to the staffroom opened. In strode Snape, stopping short just inside of the threshold to scowl at the small gathering. Firmly in place was the mask he reserved for those he did not trust at all.

The atmosphere in the room changed, and everyone went unnaturally quiet.

'Speak of the devil,' said Moody snidely, his magical eye trained on the newcomer. Hooch tittered into her tea.

Snape usually made himself scarce whenever Moody was present. Which was unfortunate, because others on staff thought it suspicious that he refused to spend time with the old auror. This time though, he could not turn around and leave without losing face.

'What was that, Moody?' Snape asked. He sat stiffly in the seat closest to the door, observing them warily.

'We were discussing who has it in for Harry Potter this year,' said Hooch. 'Not that you'd be interested. Whomever they are, I expect you to fully sympathise with their agenda.'

Though she was smiling, it was hard to tell whether she was being serious.

Snape grunted irritably, but did not speak. As he made a move towards the tray on the table, Moody, who sat closer, picked it up from under his nose, and held it out to Sinistra. She accepted the last biscuit with a sweet 'thank you.'

'I know what you think of me,' said Snape then. 'What you all say behind my back.'

 _That I'm a death eater_ hung unspoken in the air.

'Don't be so dramatic, Professor,' Sinistra said, but Moody cut her off.

'Yet you do not deny it.' It was not a question. 'Like I say, Snape, some spots just won't come off.'

Several of the other people in the room, Minerva included, shifted uncomfortably.

'We'll soon know, won't we?' Moody continued, 'when Voldemort returns-'

Snape could not hide the flinch, and an ugly flush spread on his sallow cheeks.

Moody smiled knowingly. 'When Voldemort returns, old Snape here will flee to the hills. Mark my words. But you can't hide forever, snake.'

'Alastor, really!' Even Hooch was scandalised.

Snape stood from his chair, hands clenched into fist at his sides. 'At least then you'll be rid of me,' he said, 'it is after all what you have always wanted.'

She had been the only one to go after him when he stormed off. As she stayed him by grasping his arm in a deserted corridor, he recoiled as though her touch had burnt him.

'You shouldn't take it so hard, Severus,' she said. 'We both know what Moody is like. Since coming here to teach, he has seemed… well, not quite right in the head, if you'll forgive me for saying. I fear his paranoia is getting the better of him.'

Snape shook his head. 'I don't care,' he said. 'I don't care about that lunatic Moody. I don't care about any of them. They can all go to hell.'

'Then what's the matter with you, Severus?' she asked. 'You've been unbearable lately. You bite everyone's head off, and the students are complaining about you. It's no wonder they are beginning to talk.'

'Let them complain,' said Snape. 'They've never been fond of me and I cannot blame them.'

'Tell me what's wrong,' she insisted. 'It is my responsibility as deputy to see to their welfare. You are behaving worse now than you ever have, I fear I must soon make an official enquiry.'

'You want the truth, Minerva,' he said harshly. ' _Fine_. It's coming back.'

She inhaled. 'Of what do you speak?'

He bared his teeth. They were crooked and neglected, and gleamed yellow in the candlelight from the wall sconce.

'The dark mark.'

'What are you saying?'

'He will return,' said Snape. 'The Dark Lord will return. It's growing darker every day.'

Her heart had frozen in her chest. She knew that Dumbledore had his suspicions, but here was undeniable proof. What fate would the muggleborn students face? Their futures were bound to turn dark and uncertain. Did the Headmaster have a plan in place to secure them?

She looked back at the man in front of her. His assistance in the last war had been indispensable. Would he flee, as Moody had said?

'What will you do?' she asked.

Snape was silent for some time, looking off to the distance. 'Dumbledore expects me to go to him,' he said. 'He won't order it directly, but we both know that…' He swallowed. 'We both know that I owe it to him.'

He looked askew at her with an odd expression. 'After all these years, I don't think I'll last very long. I haven't occluded, or tasted an unforgiveable in fourteen years.' He chuckled darkly. 'You know, my greatest wish is for him to say 'stay, my boy. You don't have to go, we'll find another way'.'

'But you'll go, won't you?'

He had not answered her, but not half a year later, he had returned to his master's side to atone for his sins.

In what way he had managed to convince the tyrant to spare his life, and what his punishment had been, Minerva never knew. Yet she had no doubt that it had been merciless.

How Snape must have dreaded this fate, knowing that his treason would cost him dearly.

The tightness of his shoulders, and the haunted look in his eye had never left him after this. The next time she had seen him relaxed was when he lay dead and still in the infirmary, the night after the final battle.


	2. Enemy of mine

**Enemy of Mine**

The Headmaster's quarters were spacious and airy, with a view of the Scottish heathland and the dark, grey sky. Like in his office, there was little left of Snape here.

The living room had a low circular table with three armchairs. Along the walls were several bookcases, but only the one closest to the fireplace had books in it. A liquor cabinet held a bottle of firewhiskey and one tumbler. In a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust, was Fawkes' empty perch.

She conjured a case for the books, and picked a tome from the shelf. It was a second-grade potions text, worn to the point of being fragile.

The edition was from the forties, and had long since gone out of print. Engraved in a spiky hand on the inside of the binding was the signature of Eileen Prince.

Minerva had not known Snape's parents, but had deduced early on that his home life had not been a happy one.

Had he been of her own house, his substandard social skills and personal hygiene might have caught her attention, but even as a boy, Snape had been guarded and inhospitable, and had done little in the way of endearing himself to her.

Though his head of house had taken notice of Snape's prowess in potions, the interest did not extended to his personal life. Horace Slughorn was a man who preferred to avoid trying situations.

'Professor McGonagall!'

Slughorn's voice boomed through the entrance hall. Slightly out of breath, he came to a halt in front of her, five students in tow.

'Professor. How fortunate I am to happen upon you.' He smiled genially. 'I caught these gentlemen doing mischief in the third floor boy's room. Would you mind seeing to it? They are mostly your sort anyway.'

She took in the familiar group of agitated second-years. The smallest one was cradling his left arm.

'My goodness!' she said, 'what befell Mr. Pettigrew?'

'Oh, that,' said Slughorn, 'nothing Poppy can't patch up in a jiffy.'

He patted the crying lad on the back. 'Jolly along, my boy!'

Minerva was horrified. 'Horace, surely this is dark magic?'

'Merely a severing charm, I believe,' provided Slughorn. 'Fortunately somewhat off-mark.' He bounced on his heels. 'Well, if you have no further need of me, I'm afraid I'm quite behind on my grading…'

The Slytherin Head made his escape.

Separate from the others stood a sullen boy. He had a split lip, and his greasy hair was dripping wet. The Slytherin uniform was rumpled and dirty, and she did not need to look to know that Mr. Snape was scowling at everyone.

James Potter's bright eyes caught her own.

'Professor McGonagall,' he said, 'Peter, Remus, Sirius and I were going about our business when Snape jumped us in the bathroom. He flushed Peter's transfiguration essay down the toilet for no reason at all. Said Peter is so stupid he was doing _you_ a favour.'

'Is that so?'

Pettigrew and Black nodded empathically. She looked to the quiet, sensible boy who was carrying Pettigrew's bag.

'Mr. Lupin?'

The lad cast his eyes at Snape, then at Potter. 'Snape was the one who started it,' he said, 'Peter did nothing to him.'

Snape swore foully, with alarming vitriol.

'Mind your language,' said Minerva. 'Mr. Lupin, please escort Mr. Pettigrew to the Infirmary. Messrs Potter and Black, go back to your dormitory. I'll have words with you later.'

She regarded Snape, frowning at the unpleasant smell that came off him.

'Mr. Snape,' she said. 'You have no business destroying other people's homework. Especially not in my name.'

'You don't know the things that they do,' he rushed to say, 'the way they constantly-'

She had no patience for this. In his knowledge of, and inventiveness with hexes and curses, Snape was superior to either of the self-proclaimed Marauders, and she found his tendency to single out the weakest of them uncharitable.

'Did you or did you not cut Mr. Pettigrew's arm open?'

'They- They-' Snape stuttered and flushed, unable, or unwilling to express himself.

She frowned. 'Using a dark spell on a fellow student is a very serious matter-'

' _It isn't dark!_ '

'Nevertheless,' she said, 'you will serve detention with Mr. Filch for one month, and I'm writing to your mother.' She cast a quick healing spell on his lip. 'This is not the first time you have been caught cursing your classmates.'

The boy's eyes were eerily dark on such a pale face. There was fear in them now.

'No, please!' he cried, 'Mother's not well, _he'll_ find it!'

She had tried to ask what that entailed, but he had clammed up tightly, as though he'd said too much. At twelve, his distrust was already shaping into the resigned misanthropy of someone who has been kicked in the teeth one time too many.

Later, she had recognised the stench from his hair to be urine.

It was odd that she would have such an unpleasant sense of complicity in making his schooldays a hardship. She had merely done her teacher's duty with what means were available to her. What else could she have done at the time? She needed to check on Pettigrew in the Infirmary, and had little time nor patience left for students who dabbled in the dark arts.

Neither was Snape was the first child to have suffered misfortunate circumstances growing up. For Harry Potter, they had moulded him into someone who was resourceful and self-reliant. Though his trust in adults had suffered, Potter had been a pleasant boy, and had no difficulties making and keeping friends. Snape on the other hand, had joined a group of bigoted terrorists who spent their time maiming and killing decent, innocent people.

The very same group that had murdered her brother Robert.

As for the Marauders, their mutual feud with Snape had only increased in ruthlessness as the years went by, and for as long as he lived, Snape seemed incapable of letting it go.

That he was unable to forgive testified to the power they held over him. But especially in the case of the gentle Remus Lupin, the animosity was founded in something deeper than a mere schoolboy rivalry. This fact came to her attention on a late-summer's day in 1993.

She and Dumbledore were planning for the start of term when there was an unexpected knock on the Headmaster's door.

'Severus, my boy,' said Dumbledore. 'What brings you here?'

'I found your pet wolf in the first-floor corridor.' Snape stood stern and stiff in the shadow by the door. His voice was cold. 'Did he lose his way?'

A cloud of unease settled over the Headmaster's face. 'Remus is here to sign his contract,' he said slowly, 'he is coming to stay from the first of September.'

'To stay?' Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Whatever for? You're going to let Hagrid present him in class?'

'To teach defence, Severus.' Minerva found Snape's attitude and Dumbledore's hesitance wearisome. 'What else? He's not an animal.'

Snape went very still. 'Headmaster, did you not receive my own application? Surely, it must be better than…'

Dumbledore held up a hand, forestalling him. 'I need you for potions, Severus. Remus is more than capable of performing this task. I daresay he will make an excellent addition to our staff.'

'You would choose a _werewolf_ before me?' Despite Snape's barely contained anger, she could see in his eyes the fear of a beast that once showed him its claws in the dark.

'Headmaster,' he said, 'I implore you to reconsider. To have a grown werewolf locked inside a castle full of teenagers… Lupin is _dangerous_. Surely, you can see that?'

'Not if you help him, Severus.' Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him. 'I expect you to brew the Wolfsbane potion each month, so that he will pose no danger.'

Minerva winced. Snape was never one to take it on the chin, and this blow struck firmly beneath the belt.

'No.' he said. 'He does not deserve it. He should not even be allowed here.'

The Headmaster sighed. 'You seek revenge, not justice. Many said the same of you when you first came here to teach.'

'That monster is coming nowhere near my dungeon!' Spittle flew from thin lips. Strands of greasy hair obscured a pale contorted grimace.

Snape's defiance was maddening. He learned it from his father's fists, but still. She could see that Dumbledore hated it sometimes. The way he too had to grow cold and hard to cross his steel with this man.

'Then you will take the potion to him,' he said. 'This is my final word.'

The movements were stiff, the dark eyes stormy, but despite his turmoil, Snape bowed without a word and left. In the end, he always obeyed the Headmaster's command.

Not with grace, but he obeyed. Because he was broken long ago.

Rumours amongst the staff had it that Dumbledore feared that Snape would have a negative influence on the students.

As for the students, they thought the Headmaster denied him the coveted position because he feared that the old death eater would fall back into bad habits.

Perhaps it was a combination of the two. Perhaps Dumbledore had had a grander plan all along. Minerva never knew.

Later that year, another one of Snape's old enemies appeared, and the aftermath shook the entire school.

According to Poppy Pomfrey, Snape had been nearly unhinged that day. The complete loss of composure was unusual, and somewhat alarming. Later in the evening, when Snape had been absent from both dinner and Dumbledore's debriefing of the staff, Minerva grew concerned and ventured to his personal quarters.

'Severus, open up.'

There was silence. She knocked for the fourth time.

'Severus, if you do not open, I will do so myself!'

'No… wait.' His voice was rough. There were a few soft thuds, and the door opened a sliver of a fraction. She pushed at it, backing an unsteady Snape into the room.

It was dimly lit. Even in the privacy of his own chamber, he was buttoned up against the world in his usual black, as though in need of an armour. She wrinkled her nose against the reek of Firewhisky.

'Should you drink when you have a concussion?'

His face turned sour at the reminder of how his least favourite students had bested him, and he slumped into a nearby chair.

'Go to hell, Minerva. I don't care.'

'Severus, Sirius Black is innocent. There is no need to agonise over this. The Headmaster trusts him completely. In fact, Sirius spent years in Azkaban for a crime he never committed. The least you could do is spare him some compassion.'

'Black,' said Snape, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 'Black is deranged. Anyone with half a brain knows this. What is truly disturbing is how that… werewolf acted.'

He looked up at her with dark eyes. 'I _knew_ it,' he said. 'I told Dumbledore. I told him Lupin was dangerous, but he did not listen. And now, I cannot even tell him _I told you so,_ because the idiot forgot to take his potion and it was _my_ responsibility to give it to him.'

'The Headmaster knows that you wanted to help,' said Minerva. 'I think you acted admirably, with what you knew at the time.'

She turned her back to him, inspecting a dusty cauldron on his shelf. 'Poppy told me you had locked yourself away down here because you missed out on an Order of Merlin,' she said. 'I had to inform her you didn't particularly crave fame and glory.'

'What makes you think I do not want my efforts to be recognised?' Snape asked. 'I care nothing for fame, but I resent being ignored and ridiculed.'

His body jerked, as though he was experiencing a chill. 'Do you know what he said to Crouch in the Hospital Wing? That I was disappointed that Black never …' His voice nearly broke. '…never betrayed them. What does he think? That I _want_ to hate him? Is that how _you_ see me?'

'No.' Minerva said. 'No, I don't think that anymore. Neither does the Headmaster.'

Snape shrugged. 'Well, apparently Potter does. But I expect nothing less of the brat. He is his father all over again.'

'The Potter boy merely acted upon what he thought was right,' said Minerva. 'He has such impulsiveness. But also, he has never really learned to trust you.'

'He is disobedient and insolent,' Snape said. 'Ever putting his nose in where it does not belong.'

She looked down on him. 'He is also loyal, and brave,' she said. 'The boy has a good heart, and a fair sense of justice.'

'Please,' Snape muttered, 'talk no more of Harry Potter. I cannot stand to hear another word about him.' He made a hollow chuckle. 'The way Dumbledore praises him. You'd think he was a saint.'

Realisation struck. 'You're jealous.'

Dark eyes pierced her. 'Go away, Minerva.'

'Severus, he's just a boy-'

'I'm warning you…' He got up, and took a threatening step closer.

She did not fear him, but his temperament could be unpleasant. Exasperated, she left him in the darkness to his drink.


	3. True north

**True North**

The last room was the bedroom. It was large and comfortable, with a four-poster, a fireplace, and a wardrobe.

The bed was made. The cupboards cleared out. Snape's clothes lay neatly folded on a chair by the window. He must have known that he was going to die that day.

She ran a hand over his jacket, memory sharpening at the touch. His flair for dramatics, which was so effective in the classroom. His pride – the kind that was born out of a perceived inferiority. The dry sense of humour most students took for pure derision. His fluster when offered a compliment. The way he was prone to melancholy.

On the bedside table lay a torn photograph of Lily Potter, next to it, a piece of parchment that carried her love.

Minerva picked them up, watching the sweet, young face break into a smile. There were shrivelled patches on it, as though tears had fallen on it and dried there. He had still had the heart to weep when he looked upon her.

She was not usually a woman of faith, but a long-forgotten quote came to mind then.

 _When I looked for good, then evil came unto me…_

Fair, cruel Lily. Had she not been the one to break him?

She could recall a time -long ago- when they had been friends.

'Don't sink to his level, Sev.' Miss Evans' voice was clear as a bell.

When Minerva had entered her classroom, the young girl had taken hold of Snape's hand, staying him from pointing his wand at a classmate.

She sighed, making them both turn around sharply.

'Professor!' Miss Evans smiled brightly, surreptitiously pulling Snape's wand out of view.

'What is going on here?' she had asked, directing the question at Snape, and though he tried for innocence, he was ill equipped to pull it off.

But the girl placed herself between them.

'Nothing,' she said. 'James Potter placed a hex on Severus' chair, but it's all sorted now.' She glanced at her housemate, who was slinking over to his usual seat in the back. 'We didn't do anything to him, Professor. Honestly.'

'Very well.' Minerva let it go, already aware that the raging battle between Potter and Snape was partially due to this very girl.

But _she_ of course, was still unaware of this, and as Minerva made to go up front, she heard her whisper close to Snape's ear.

'He's not worth it. You shouldn't let them get to you.'

It was so very unusual to see that boy thaw, that the memory had stayed with her.

'I'll try,' he said fondly. 'For you.'

'Thank you.' She squeezed his arm, making his eyes shine. 'I've got your back, Sev,' she said. 'You know that.'

It had often puzzled Minerva then, that Lily would be such a fierce friend to him.

Snape was possessive and jealous around her, always seeming too serious and intense for the fair girl. Besides came their difference in appearance, Snape having never been anything to look at with his hair and nose and teeth and attitude.

She had put it on Lily back then. Thinking her a better person for seeing something that was hidden on the the inside. When Lily broke with him, she thought it was because that light in him had gone out. But she was not so sure anymore.

Later, when the two were no longer friends, she once accidentally paired them for a transfiguration project.

For years, they had been compatible partners in her class, both of them bright and dedicated, and they had always finished their tasks without a fuss. But this time, as she was advising Lupin and Pettigrew on how to adjust a switching spell according to body weight, she heard raised voices from up front.

'Grow up, Severus!'

She could see from the corner of her eye that Black was nudging Potter in the side. Both boys snickered, watching Lily snatch the mouse they were practicing on away from Snape.

'I'm not going to put up with your nonsense anymore,' she told him.

Potter whistled at that, earning a rude hand gesture from Snape, but Lily ignored them both.

'If you want to go outside the book, do it after class.' She held the mouse to her. 'Or I won't ever talk to you again. I'm so tired of your mishaps. This here is a living creature for flip's sake!'

Minerva straightened, too surprised by their argument yet to interfere. Snape frequently liked to experiment with the spells she taught, as he did in most classes, and his books were always full of notes and cross-outs. Being as transfiguration was not his top subject, he was indeed prone to the odd accident, but this had never seemed to bother Lily before.

'It's not as though I've injured him,' said Snape defensively. 'I was just trying to see if I could switch his colour too.'

'You've no idea what that could have done to him!' Lily stood, bringing her bag over to the table where her current boyfriend sat, a Gryffindor named Stebbins. 'You're a truly nasty person, Severus,' she said. 'I've no idea why I ever bothered with you.'

Black laughed as Snape's cheeks flushed an ugly red. 'Fine,' he said. 'Go then. I don't need you anyway.'

But the hurt in his voice belied those words.

Sometimes, Minerva wondered if Lily had held the power to save him. That maybe, if she hadn't spurned him, she could have pulled out his light. Made herself his salvation rather than his undoing.

Had she not evoked the attention of almost every boy in her year, would she have remained his friend?

But Snape had been drawn to the darkness, and in the end, she was not her brother's keeper. When their paths had parted, he had chosen the godforsaken road, and since then it all fell apart. Yes, it was harsh of her to turn him away. Yet at that point he was already well on the way to destroying himself.

And James and Sirius, they were such handsome boys. How charming they must have seemed to a girl who had only just begun to become aware of her unusual beauty.

When Lily broke his heart by becoming the sweetheart of his enemy, Snape cloaked himself in bitterness. For a long time then, Minerva simply thought that he was lost, that such is the way of the world.

Yet still, -and by no means did she think that informing Voldemort of the prophecy was excusable- but in the end, when he had realised his error, he had let it go.

Instead of letting his bitterness consume Lily's memory, he had made her into his lone purpose. His redemption. True north on his crooked moral compass.

Her death made him turn back, and from there on out, he never wavered in his duty.

True, he had not been loved. He had been hard on everyone. On his colleagues, on the students, and on himself. He was not an entirely good man. He was broken. In his soul, and in his heart, and he knew not how to be kind.

Yet, he had sacrificed all that he was to the protection of a boy who reminded him of everything that he had lost, or would never have.

No, he wasn't loved by many. But love, he did.

Before the burial, Minerva had gone to see his body, as she had seen all the dead in an attempt to understand.

Greasy black hair, matted with congealed blood lay fanned out on a sheet that must once have been white. The deep groove between his eyes followed him to the grave. The buttoned coat was wrinkled and torn.

She reached out to touch his cheek then, but withdrew her hand before making contact.

Had she hoped that his pale, bloodied corpse would somehow tell his tale? That it could explain his harsh actions and lowly words, and defend his flawed character and redeem him _?_

Maybe. But he had been cold and still, and the fight had long since left his eyes.

Minerva rubbed her lower back. Snape's personal belongings were packed away now. Nothing remained in the bedroom, but she wasn't all done. There was yet another thing that needed to be buried.

But she did not want to remember it because it stung. Because it forced her to look inside her own soul, and this was the most painful thing of all.

They had all made attempts to kill him that year. She was no exception; she had taken his betrayal personally.

'Where is she?'

The moor was turning yellow and red-brown outside the Headmaster's window. Many of the students had not returned that fall, and others still would never return at all. Snape looked like he had seen better days.

'What is it, Minerva?'

Though she had insisted upon addressing him formally that year, or not at all, he never stopped using her given name.

'What have you done,' she asked. 'Albus. Charity. Alastor. Scrimgeour…' She threw her arms wide.

'Miss Longbottom.' She took a deep breath. ' _Were is she_?'

Snape slowly shook his head.

'This madness has to end,' Minerva said. 'Severus, I once called you my friend. I implore you to see reason. Tell me where she is, I know you know. It might not yet be too late.'

'You are wrong,' he said. 'They are all lost.'

But she had caught something breakable in his eye, and it had angered her. She had wanted to hurt him then, to make him feel what she felt.

'Say where she is,' she said, 'or I shall name you her killer.'

'Don't,' he said. 'Just stop, Minerva. I don't want to argue. Let me in peace.'

'You don't deserve it.' She was bristling. 'I have a _right_ to know.'

But he stood his cold ground below the mute portrait of his predecessor.

'They were casualties of war.'

'Tell me it wasn't you who killed them. Tell me!' She could have killed _him_ \- later, she would try. Could have done it with bare hands just then. 'Is there no soul left in you?'

'Perhaps there isn't,' he conceded, offering no defence. Fooled, she believed him.

'Then shame on you,' she said. 'You murdered them all in your wretched folly.'

She searched his eyes for compassion, finding only a bottomless abyss. Then she took a step back, holding his gaze, and spat at the ground near his feet.

'You will burn in hell, Severus Snape. Your soul is shrivelled and black, and the world shall rejoice when you rot in the grave and we are finally rid of you.'

Then she turned and left, never to look him in the eye again.

She knew better now.

She had searched with the eyes of the blind, so firm in her belief that _he_ was the wicked one.

But it was written there. In the window to his soul. She could see it now, in her mind's eye. He had desperately wanted her to know, wanted _someone_ to know, that there was good in him, after all.

But she was only cruel to him that year. Had not given him the time of day, had not even cared to. She chose the wild, forsaken road, and gave him no peace in the hardest of times.

Did he have peace where he was now? She despaired, not knowing.

But such was her plight, and there was no rest for her. Life would go on and she held no power over the past. Only over the future. What else was left to her, but to accept the aid of time?

Not all diamonds shine bright and true, she would take this fact to heart. She herself would try to shine a little brighter. She would forgive him. She would forgive herself. For truly, what else could she do?

She took the bottle of Firewhiskey from the desk, and poured herself a measure, using the tumbler that had been his.

She held up the glass to the portraits, and then downed it all to the former Headmasters' salute: 'To Snape.'

'To Severus,' said Dumbledore, bowing his head.

'May he have peace,' said Minerva, and it came from the heart.

She left her glass and the bottle on the desk, and put the last case on top of the other two, watching as millions of tiny specks of dust twirled around, illuminated as the last ray of light from the setting sun broke through the clouds.

The content of those cases were the sum of Severus Snape's last year. A photograph of a fair-weather friend, and the parting words of a letter addressed to an enemy.

But his legacy lived on.

She stood quite still, until the light disappeared completely, leaving her shivering in the twilight.

Then she shrunk the two cases, casting a last look around before she left the empty office and closed the heavy door behind her back.


End file.
